Reading Into Every Word You Say
by SuperWhoLockedsince'12
Summary: Sam Winchester and Clara Oswald are both sick of their distrustful partners-in-crime. Seeking solidarity and comfort in the same cafe, the strangers begin talking about why they both share a similar, lost look. Requested by smile-makesyoulookgreat.


"Look, Sammy-"

"It's _Sam_, Dean." Sam interrupted angrily.

"Whatever, I just think you should leave this one up to me." Dean explained from where he sat on the edge of the motel's bed.

"Why?" Sam was pacing, obviously agitated. "Because I'm not trustworthy anymore?"

"That's not what I-"

"You don't need to, Dean!" Sam spat, his tall form towering over his older brother. "It's pretty damn obvious that you don't trust me. Why won't you let me prove myself?"

Dean was silent, avoiding his brother's eye, intent on cleaning the gun that sat in his lap.

"I get it." Sam answered for him. "You're scared I'm going to fuck up again, like I _always _do."

"Sam, don't be a drama queen," Dean muttered, though he was clearly distracted.

"I'm not! You don't trust me with anything these days, Dean, and I'm tired of your shit!"

Dean creased his brow and looked up at this brother.

"Of _my _shit?" He asked quizzically.

"Yeah, Dean. You've been keeping me on a leash ever since-"

"-the _apocalypse_ started." Dean finished for him, a disbelieving look overcoming his face. "Funny that."

"What can I do for you to trust me again?" Sam yelled, with a pleading twinge to the last word.

"Not this." Dean's mouth set in a hard line. "You may have gone cold turkey, but those demons know your weakness, Sam."

Sam glared at his brother.

"And you don't think I can control myself?" He growled. Dean sighed and shrugged dejectedly.

"I don't know what to think, Sam." He said truthfully. Sam shook his head and ground his teeth together.

"I need some air…" He muttered, shoving the motel's door open with a creak, breathing in the crisp, fresh air and walking out onto the street.

"I _know_ when something is up with you," Clara leaned forward on the TARDIS console to peer at the Doctor's distorted face in the glass. "And that look you've been giving me is setting off warning bells."

"What look?" The Doctor sounded offended, but as his cast his eyes at the controls next to him, his expression darkened.

"The look you give me when you think I can't see you." Clara sounded concerned, as she circled the console to look at the Doctor. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong." The Doctor said shortly, avoiding eye contact with his companion.

"Don't lie to me Doctor!"

The Doctor locked eyes with Clara, sad and confused.

"I honestly can't tell you." He said shortly, flicking his quiff to the side as he punched in a set of coordinates. Clara sighed and leant against the TARDIS' railing. She was tired, and sick of being constantly curious. The non-stop adventure was getting to her.

"Doctor, I think I need a break…" She said quietly. The Doctor looked over at her sadly.

"But I don't want to go home." She shrugged. "I need a little quiet time to myself."

The Doctor nodded and forced a smile on his face.

"That's definitely doable."

"I'll just put some shoes on." She explained, walking into the corridor behind the console. The Doctor watched after her as she disappeared from view.

"Impossible girl…"

Clara stepped out into a bright, crisp day of an unknown, Earth city. The sun was hidden behind a cascade of grey clouds and a biting, cold wind blew through her thin cardigan. She walked over the small patch of grass the TARDIS had landed on and onto a narrow, bitumen road. Following it, she found a small town nestled in the shadow of skyscrapers in the distance, and a discarded newspaper that had blown out of a nearby bin. Picking it up, she read its title. _The New York Times_ was printed in bold, Edwardian script.

"America." She thought aloud, ditching the paper back in the bin and wrapping her cardigan tightly around herself. On the far end of the road sat a small coffee shop, illuminated with fluorescent signs advertising its welcome. Clara marched forward towards its bland, mint green walls and pushed open the glass door. A small bell advertised her arrival and a middle-aged woman with a brown, 1960's style bob approached the counter. Clara smiled at her, and earned one back, as she surveyed the mounted menu boards above the waitresses' head.

"What can I get for you, love?" The waitress pulled a notepad and biro from the front pocket of her white apron.

"A pot of black tea would be lovely," She said, peering through a glass window where various slices and sandwiches sat.

"Tea?" The waitress raised her eyebrows as she scribbled down the order. "What about something to eat? Your skinny frame looks as though it could do with some food."

Clara frowned at the comment but pointed to a pie in the window.

"A piece of that apple pie, if you don't mind."

"Not at all love! Have a seat."

Clara looked around. The café had a scant number of tables occupied, but her favourite spot to sit in cafes, the one closest to the only window overlooking the street, was taken. Something about the stranger that sat there, hunched over and people-watching, caught her attention. He had longer brown hair that hung either side of his face that was adorned with thick, sideburns. He was abnormally tall, but that wasn't what drew her to him. He looked lost, and it resonated within her. She wanted to blame it on her motherly instinct, but she knew it couldn't be that. He seemed older than her, and could easily be a foot taller. No, it was something about that look that hit an extremely sensitive empathy nerve because she knew she looked the same.

Shyly, she approached the table, waiting for the stranger to notice her presence. She cleared her throat and he looked over at her.

"Uh, do you mind if I sit with you?" She asked tentatively, motioning at the seat opposite him. "I like company when I'm travelling."

He shrugged nonchalantly and nodded.

"Yeah, of course," He sat back in his chair and stared out the window at the leaves blowing past. He was annoyed at the disturbance, but thought he could probably do with a little normal, human conversation.

Clara was quietly watching the stranger out of the corner of her eye, noticing his absent expression still hadn't left him.

"I couldn't help but notice you look a little bit sad." She said. He looked at her suspiciously. "I'm a bit sad too. Maybe we should try to fix each other's sadness."

She half-smiled at him and the man grinned.

"Is that a pick-up line?"

Clara frowned.

"No. Is it normally in America?"

His eyes widened.

"I should've picked up that accent! You're English!"

Clara winked.

"Born and bred. I've never been to America before. I just… sort of… landed…" She trailed off, mirroring the stranger's leaf vigil. He frowned thoughtfully at her.

"I know the feeling…" He held out a hand. "I'm Sam by the way."

"Clara," She smiled at how small her hand seemed as they shook. The waitress approached carrying a tray decked with a slice of apple pie and a steaming, yellow tea pot.

"Here's your tea," She carefully placed the pot, two cups and saucers on the table and, as she leant over, Clara noticed her name badge. '_Sarah'_ was written in ugly, black block print across the white plastic. "And your pie." She smiled as Clara took the plate from her. "Have a nice day."

Clara smiled as she left while Sam was stared quizzically, fascinated by the tea set.

"I could make you a cup if you're game." Clara grinned at him as he looked up.

"Sure!" He frowned. "I'm not sure if I've ever had tea from a pot before…"

Clara scoffed.

"Surely you have!" She said as she poured his cup. Sam shrugged as he accepted it. "Do you take milk?"

"Probably." He poured some in and brought the cup up to his lips.

"You might want to blow on it; it might be hot." Clara warned, but Sam took a sip anyway. He immediately recoiled and put the cup back on the saucer.

"Oh God, it's horrible!" He exclaimed, pushing the saucer Clara's way.

"Really?" She had a sip from his cup and grimaced. "Gosh, you're right. Nothing like at home."

"Blame it on America."

"Maybe it can be improved with pie…" Clara took a bite from her slice.

"My brother would agree with you."

Clara looked up. She noticed the way Sam had said 'brother', as he had fallen to staring out the window again. A touch of spite, but also sadness had entered his tone. She pursed her lips.

"Is this the same brother who's making you look like a lost puppy?"

Sam smiled, his gaze still outside.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Maybe I feel similar."

Sam frowned and looked at her.

"Do you?"

Clara didn't answer, putting another forkful of pie into her mouth. Sam waited patiently for her to continue.

"I have this friend, I'm not sure if you could call him a boyfriend, but I travel around with him a lot. We've gone everywhere and he's a very wise and energetic guy. Recently, though, he's been acting really weirdly, like he knows something I don't. And the weird thing is, I think it's about me. It's been driving me insane! Every time I bring it up, he changes the subject or lies. I don't like arguing with him, because he's the one who instigates and organises everything we do, and he basically keeps me alive. I'm very grateful to him, but I just feel so…" Clara struggled to find the right word. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"Distrusted?" He offered. Clara nodded.

"Yeah…" She swallowed and concentrated on a speck of dirt sitting near her plate. She chewed another forkful of pie and tried to appreciate its taste, though the filling was like cardboard. She touched the teapot with the back of her hand. "Oh no! Tea's gone cold."

Sam half-smiled.

"It was room-temperature before, I'm not surprised. Why don't you have coffee? America isn't bad at coffee."

Clara wrinkled her nose.

"I've never been a fan of coffee, but okay…" She swivelled around in her chair towards the café's counter. "Sarah! Can we have a pot of coffee please?"

Sarah nodded.

"Coming right up!"

She busied herself with the coffee scoop and hot water, taking not time at all to brew the black liquid and bringing it over to the table. Sam and Clara had been silently mulling over what had just been conversed between them. Sam was wondering whether or not he should mention his troubles, or leave Clara's mind worry free.

"Here you are then." Sarah smiled, pouring their coffee and collecting the utensils. She frowned as she picked up the full tea pot, but elected not to say anything as she left. Clara looked broodingly at the coffee and Sam raised his eyebrows expectantly as she took a sip. She screwed her face up and set the mug back down.

"It's like black sludge!" She exclaimed, shovelling the last of the pie into her mouth.

"Not the best example of American coffee…" Sam said, setting his own mug down after gulping down half of it. He had said it a little too loudly for Clara's liking, and she quickly looked to where Sarah stood looking angry.

"I think she heard you!" Clara whispered, embarrassed.

"Why? Because she looks little bit grumpy? It's probably because minimum wage doesn't amount to much down here." He continued in the same volume as before.

"Shhh!" Clara hid behind her hand as she shot Sam a disapproving look.

"You English are so politically correct and polite." He chuckled.

"And you Americans have no boundaries!" She exclaimed, hitting him playfully on the hand and giggling herself. The tension within them began to relieve itself, and Clara could feel herself relax further and further into the plush, red fabric of her chair. Sam stopped laughing and suddenly turned serious, glaring out the window. Clara frowned.

"Now it's your turn to vent."

Sam nodded, making up his mind.

"I mentioned my brother before, and yeah, he's sort of the reason I feel a bit angry. I made a big mistake not long ago that had some pretty bad consequences, and I've been doing everything within my power to right it by him. It seems that no matter what I do, he will never trust me enough to prove myself. And in our line of work, it all depends on trust. I get bored and frustrated really easily and he won't acknowledge it. He pretends that he doesn't know what I'm talking about when I mention it, like being a big brother is his job and part of it is protecting me. It's partly true, but I know it's different between us and I'm finding it hard to come to terms with it…." The realisation of the reason of his distress hit Sam, and he fell to a quiet, brooding silence. Clara was regrading him with sympathy as he stared out of the window. The sun was beginning to climb its way out of the cloud cover, and rays fell on the plastic table top.

"I know this isn't what you want to hear," Clara started, clearing her throat, "But it sounds like your brother just needs time to forgive you."

Sam nodded begrudgingly.

"I know. I just wish he'd hurry up about it."

Clara half-smiled dreamily at the table.

"Don't we all…"

Sam shrugged.

"Your friend sounds like he needs to grow some balls."

Clara giggled.

"I think he'll tell me when the time comes…" She trailed off as she pulled a napkin out of the dispenser next to her. She sifted through her purse and pulled out a pen, scribbling something down on the paper. "Here!" She said brightly, handing Sam the napkin.

"Is this your phone number?" He asked, looking at the string of numbers. Clara nodded.

"In case you need to talk about something that's bothering you," She smiled. Sam tore the napkin in half and gestured to borrow her pen, writing his own number down.

"Same goes to you, Clara," He smiled at her as she shoved it into her purse. "I'll pay for the coffee if you want…"

Clara nodded.

"I'll pay for the tea to make it fair."

Outside the door to the café, Sam and Clara found themselves about to walk in opposite directions. They shook hands one last time before embarking on their separate journeys, more similar to each other than they were to think.

* * *

_AN: Feedback is very much appreciated x_


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